


This Lonely Pit in my Stomach

by fantasiesdreaming



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Ben Hargreeves Deserves Better, Ben Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Ben Hargreeves-centric, Character Study, Depression, Dissociation, Family Dynamics, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, No Incest, POV Ben Hargreeves, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, hello its your friendly neighborhood ben stan, here to give him the character backstory he deserves, soft boi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25839148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasiesdreaming/pseuds/fantasiesdreaming
Summary: In the beginning, Ben just wanted everyone to like him. He wanted to be best friends with his beloved siblings and exchange secrets and gifts and laugh at the movies or whatever else he knew normal kids did from the few snippets of TV they were allowed to watch.But there's a pit in his stomach, right below the Horror, that's growing heavier and heavier each year.-------Ben's experiences growing up over the years weigh him down.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Diego Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves & Everyone, Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 17
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

He first became aware of the feeling that something was off when they were eight years old.

Dad had spent an entire hour after their group training that day berating each of them with a ferocity the likes of which they had never seen before. In previous training sessions, Dad had made sure to voice his disappointment at every minuscule failure, but after this particular group training, he was vicious, focusing on each one for ten full minutes and delving into the details of each and every flaw that rendered them undeserving of their place in the Academy. They had been practicing all week to save a dummy hostage from an assortment of robotic machine hostiles that Dad had developed for training purposes. But their team coordination was lacking – “Number One,” as Dad adamantly called Luther, was still coming into his role of leadership, which, even by the young age of eight, they had all come to understand he wasn’t suited for. The poor hostage dummy was charred to a black, ashy pile, and then they were forced to relive each minute mistake they had dared to make for an hour after their defeat.

Ben stood alongside his siblings and listened silently to it all with his eyes downcast.

Ben had always known there was something, some little, unnamable thing, that always seemed to add distance between him and his siblings. But that day was the first time it finally manifested into something he could see with his eyes.

They all had their flaws. But they all understood each other better because of them. Luther could act like a know-it-all, but everyone knew Dad expected him to tell them what to do. Diego stammered when he got nervous, but mom seemed to love him extra because of it, and no one (but Luther, sometimes) ever made fun of him for it. Allison always wanted things to happen her way, but she never used her power on any of them – they all knew that it wasn’t ok, and she knew that too. Klaus never seemed to want to do what he was supposed to do, and Ben could never understand how he got away with so much trouble. But he was the baby of the group – even though they were all the same age, they already had a certain motherly instinct to protect Klaus. Five was always acting like he was too cool for all of them and rebelling against Dad (in a more argumentative way than Klaus – Klaus simply didn’t do things he was told to do. Five _did_ them, but the way _he_ thought was right). But they all looked up to him with a bit more respect because of that. Vanya, despite being powerless, was never mean or abrasive, so everyone got along just fine with her, and they got along fine without her – but Five had taken a liking to her, and because they respected Five, they also respected Vanya a little more.

But when Ben was going through each of his siblings, listing off the things that the others liked and didn’t like, once he got to himself, he was always just presented with a giant, blank slate of nothing.

It didn’t bother him that much though, because he couldn’t quite name what exactly made him feel uneasy.

That is, until this particular day. 

After the hour of lecturing that felt like it took up an entire week, they were all relieved to hear Dad finally huff, “Dismissed.” Each sibling trudged back into the mansion to wash up and rest until dinner.

At least, that was what Ben thought they were all doing. That was what he was doing.

Instead, he watched each of his siblings linger and then pair off to chat, vent, rant, and destress in each other’s company. Allison angrily stormed off to her room, upset about her imperfect performance, and Luther speedily followed after her, calling out, “Hey! Allison, wait up!”

Diego went straight for the kitchen, most likely to confide in Mom. Klaus lazily threw an arm around his shoulder and traipsed alongside him, while yelling, “Moom! Can we have some cookies?”

Vanya moved quietly towards her room, having watched the whole training affair from a distance. Five looked in her direction, then briskly looked around. Not noticing Ben watching, he nodded to himself, satisfied that no one was looking, and then teleported over to a few steps in front of Vanya. “Five!” she exclaimed, surprised by his sudden entrance, before a small smile slipped onto her face. She visibly relaxed as they continued off, walking comfortably side-by-side. “I didn’t think that was really fair of Dad…” she started as their voices trailed off into the distance.

Ben stood alone, his feet planted in front of the stairs to the main entrance of the mansion. He felt a tiny pit low in his stomach. It felt cool, and dead, nothing like the hot and wriggling tentacles that resided in his stomach just a little above that pit. He felt the wind blow past his ears and the leaves rustle by his ankles. He felt sore from all of that intense training, but for the first time, he also felt _tired_. Not tired like after-training-I’m-so-tired tired, but _tired_ in a way that scared him. He could feel the Horror shift restlessly in his torso, attuned to Ben’s growing fear. _Fear?_ Why was he scared? He patted his stomach subconsciously, reassuring his tummy friend.

That’s right – his tummy _friend_! _That makes sense,_ he thought _. Because One goes with Three, Two with Four, and Five with Seven._ Ben was good at math, one of the few things he felt proud of himself for, so he knew about odds and evens _._ That meant that he, Six, would go with Eight, but there was no Eight! So it made sense that they would all pair off, and he didn’t have someone to pair off with. But, that’s just it – he had the Horror. So really, he was already paired off. They all already knew that he had a tummy friend, so _that’s_ why they had to pair off with each other.

Ben nodded to himself, relieved, the fear slowly fading away. He started climbing up the stairs to go wash up in his room, still mindlessly rubbing small circles on his stomach, and he felt the Horror start to subside. That’s right. He had his tummy friend. He was not alone.

That strange pit in his stomach slowly unclenched.

But it never fully went away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy i have got some feelings after watching season 2 yall THEY DID BEN SO DIRTY
> 
> anyway, me trying to channel my disappointment in the lack of backstory for Ben produced this lil character study/development for him from smol bby boy to his death. warning to you all: it'll just keep getting sadder and sadder with each chapter because this is canon compliant which means...... ben dies...........
> 
> there's NO way young bby boy ben was not depressed and if the show won't even touch upon that, then i sure will, thank you for coming to my ted talk
> 
> hope you enjoyed! more to come


	2. Beady Eyes and Stifled Cries

Ben was a kind soul. Dad constantly reminded him that he needed to have the heart of a hero, which meant that he needed to be strong, tough, and willing to do whatever it took to save the day. But one of the very few things Dad and all the siblings agreed on was that Ben just didn’t have it in him to be tough. When a spider trapped in the house caught Allison’s attention and elicited a shriek, Ben was the one who carefully scooped it up and set it free outside, often times rushing in to save it from a well-meaning Luther intending to squash it for Allison’s benefit. Ben couldn’t help it – he cared a whole lot for pretty much everyone. Instead of being a fierce and jaded hero, he was a sweet and kind innocent who wanted everyone to like him. He wanted to be best friends with his beloved siblings and hang out after lessons to exchange secrets and gifts and giggles and laughs. He wanted to spend time together in parks or at the movies or wherever else he knew normal kids went based on the few snippets of TV they were allowed to watch.

Maybe he could have had that life. Maybe it wasn’t too late. But in preparation for their first ever mission next year, which would be their debut to the world, Dad announced that he would start ramping up their training. This looked different for everyone – Klaus started spending time in the mausoleum, Luther had heavier and heavier contraptions thrown onto him… Each twelve-year-old sibling experienced the shift differently. When it was Ben’s turn that week for individual training, he nervously stood at attention in front of his father, awaiting his new schedule.

“Now, Number Six,” Dad began, “I will admit. Your training has progressed… adequately. You are, unlike some of your siblings, on track.”

Ben felt a rush of pride, followed by a pang of guilt for receiving this compliment at the expense of some of his siblings.

Reginald watched his reaction closely. Then he announced, “You will now begin your actual training. No more childish games. You are old enough to learn your true purpose in this world.”

Those words scared Ben. He knew he was more sensitive than some of his siblings, like Allison or Five, because Dad would say something ominous and he would feel his heart start to pound in anticipation and dread. The others would either laugh in Dad’s face or strongly hold their heads high. But Ben could never bring himself to look Dad in the eyes.

“Look at me, Number Six,” commanded Reginald, as if reading his mind. “Number Six! Don’t make me repeat myself.” Ben forced himself to lift his head an inch and raise his eyes to meet Dad’s cold, calculating ones. Dad shook his head disappointedly, and Ben felt blood rush to his face in embarrassment. He had _just_ been getting some praise, and he had gone and messed it up. Still, he couldn’t shake his fear that his life was about to change for the worse. He could sense it, and so could the Horror, and it shifted uncomfortably in his stomach. Without thinking, he reached down to rub small circles on his belly and help calm it down, both him and the eldritch creature craving the reassurance. Dad’s sharp eyes narrowed, not missing the gesture. Ben regretted his small action of weakness immediately and brought his hand back to his side.

“Such a shame,” Reginald said, his eyes glinting. “We must train this softness out of you, Number Six. What will happen if you show this kind of weakness during a mission? You will endanger the safety of your siblings, and their destruction shall be on your hands.”

There it was again. The fear and adrenaline rushing through his veins, along with that pit in his stomach, the one that had been gaining weight over the years. He felt it fill with dread. Ben tried to swallow down his rising emotions.

“I… I won’t be soft,” he answered, already hating how he sounded.

Reginald stared back at him, unimpressed. “You are right," he replied evenly. "Not after today’s training.”

Ben gulped as Dad led him to his usual giant training area on the outskirts of the Hargreeves property. Ben’s training area was the largest and furthest away from the mansion in order to allow his power a full range of motion and, at least for him, to avoid the judging looks from his siblings. He always felt conscious of his power, because the Horror was different from the rest of their powers – it was slimy and weird-looking, and as Allison succinctly put it, “gross.” Of course, _Ben_ didn’t think so. But he couldn’t blame the others for feeling that way. He could understand that it made them uncomfortable, because after all, none of their powers involved another creature with several tentacles coexisting in their bodies. So when they began training all those years ago, he was glad that he could be far away from his siblings’ prying eyes, free to train without worrying about how they’d look at him afterwards. (Not that they looked at him that much in the first place. But he already understood the logic of the pairings, and he didn’t blame them. He could never blame them.)

Now, however, each step away from the mansion felt like a step further away from safety. He became suddenly aware that if something happened, no one, not one of his siblings, would be able to hear it. Of course, he trusted Dad, who had been very methodical and cautious when it came to engaging the Horror and training to use it over the years. But something about his voice today…

He followed Dad into the vast, warehouse-like training space. The lights never seemed to be bright enough in here. Instead of making their way over to the usual precision-training target boxes or strength-gauging thousand-pound weights scattered across the space, Dad led him to a smaller room enclosed by thick metal walls. This room was hardly twenty feet by twenty feet, and they had never used it before because the Horror would have been rather cramped in that small, claustrophobic space. The only thing in the room was a small wooden box placed smack in the center of the space. Questions rose to Ben’s lips, but he hushed them down, already well aware that he was not to ask questions and that Dad would explain things shortly.

Reginald walked up to the box and turned around with a flourish. “Number Six, stand at attention,” he commanded. Ben quickly obeyed. During that brief moment of silence, he realized that there was a strange, muffled noise coming from the box. “This, Number Six, marks a step into the future, both for you and the Umbrella Academy. Starting now, you will come into your own power and turn it into something the likes of which mankind has never seen before.”

Ben continued looking at the box, waiting for the shoe to drop.

“This,” Dad continued while rapping the top of the box with a primly closed fist, “marks the first true test of your strength. No more holding back, Number Six. No more being _soft._ I will not allow it. I _cannot_ allow it. Hesitating due to a lack of inner strength is what will lead to the deaths of your beloved siblings on a mission. Do you want that to happen?”

Ben licked his lips to help loosen the words stuck in his throat. “No,” he managed. At the upturn of Dad’s eyebrow, he hastily added, “No, sir.”

Dad nodded. “I did not think so. Up until now, we have worked on obtaining a basic grasp of your abilities. You now have the ability to control the Horror within you with a precision and force that will help you greatly for what is to come. However, none of that can be put to use on a mission if you remain… soft.” At this point, he began pacing back and forth, gesturing with grand purpose. “On a mission, will you be fighting against boxes? Will you be fighting against lifeless objects with targets painted upon them? No. You, Number Six, will be fighting the enemy, and the enemy will most likely be _living_.”

“In order to fight the enemy, you must learn to fight other life. You must learn to be _strong_ , Number Six.”

With a bang, Reginald slammed off the hinges of the box with his cane, and a terrified chicken raced out past Ben’s legs, clucking wildly as it circled the room, searching for an exit. Ben felt a crash of realization accompanied by a powerful wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. _No_ , he thought.

“You will not finish training until you have dealt with that animal,” Reginald declared, already turning to enter his watch tower that overlooked the room. Ben watched him walk away towards the sturdy metal doors in slow-motion, because time had started slowing down. He heard each shaky breath of his as it left his open mouth. He heard the chicken clucking furiously, trying fruitlessly to escape through the doors Reginald was now closing and starting to lock. He watched the chicken back away and search for another exit as it realized it was trapped in this room, just… just like he was. He couldn’t even feel the Horror because that pit, that weight in his stomach, was overshadowing any other feeling. He felt it drop heavily and another wave of nausea rushed over him.

“Wait,” he whispered, and Dad either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him for sounding so weak. “Wait,” he said a little louder, but Dad had already closed the doors with a clang, and the mechanical lock shut it firmly in place. Ben did not move. He stood deathly still until he felt Dad’s eyes watching him again, now in his usual spot from his watch tower up above, separated by a pane of bulletproof glass.

“Number Six,” Reginald announced into his mic in his warmly lit watch tower. His voice distorted with static as it burst through the speaker in the metal room. “I will only repeat myself this one time. You will not finish training until you have dealt with that animal. This is a very simple task. You have eaten chicken before. Did you believe it had willingly placed itself on your plate?”

It was true. Ben had eaten chicken, but not out of choice. He hated the thought of hurting anyone or anything, and if he could have had his way, he would have been vegetarian. But Dad, calling this sentiment weakness when Ben voiced it at the tender age of six, had ordered Mom to give him nothing _but_ meat for the following week. Ben had persisted for as long as he could, refusing to eat his meals much to the admiration of his siblings (except Luther, who told him to listen to Dad). He started feeling feverish on day two, but Reginald had ordered Mom to provide him only with the bare health care essentials, enough to get him back to the dinner table to eat his carnivorous meal. Finally, on the fourth day, delirious and starving, Ben had caved and shoveled whatever was on his plate into his mouth in a frenzy that he didn’t even remember. He threw it all up within the hour and collapsed on the bathroom floor, and over the next few days was nursed back to health with Mom’s signature chicken noodle soup. At first, he was disgusted by it, but he knew he had to eat to survive. He learned. He stopped being as disgusted by it. He learned to feel much more disgusted with himself. He learned to try not to think about eating meat too much, because it would make him feel that pit deep in his stomach, that pit that scared him.

Now, however, there was no avoiding thinking about it: Reginald was asking him to “deal” with this chicken, which he knew meant… to kill it. But up until now, Ben had done his best to never harm anyone. He couldn't bring himself to hurt anything, let alone _kill_. Ben eyed the bird in front of him. It was starting to calm down. It clucked again as it looked from the metal doors, to the ceiling, to the ground across from it, to – Ben. It stared at him, and he stared back. Its black, beady eyes were looking right at Ben, and in that moment Ben knew it was a thinking, moving, _living_ creature. It was alive. It was _alive_.

Revulsion swept through him and he was face down, his hands pushing off the ground as he dry-heaved.

“Number Six! Stop this tomfoolery at once!” Reginald’s voice echoed harshly within the metal enclosure.

Ben panted as the latest wave of nausea let up a little, and he tried to explain himself. “I… I can’t,” he cried, and he was actually crying now. Hot tears spilled off his face, and shame mixed with the fear and disgust he was already feeling.

“Number Six, bring out the Horror and kill that animal this instant!”

But Ben couldn’t. He physically couldn’t. His eldritch companion had retreated deep within the recesses of his body. It sensed his reluctance and supported him the only way it could: by refusing to come out, no matter how hard he tried. “I-I’m s-s-sorry, Dad,” he sobbed. “I c-can’t do it.”

Dad’s silence pressed down on his ears. Ben needed to get out of this room. He crawled over to the metal doors, but they wouldn’t budge. The chicken started clucking again, and each jarring cluck sounded like a shriek right into his ears. With each shriek, the bird’s beady eyes flashed into his mind, staring into his soul. “Dad, p-please,” he begged, as he feebly pushed against the doors. “I don’t k-know what’s happening to m-me. I feel sick. I need to get ou-“

“I will not repeat myself,” Reginald interrupted with a tone of ice.

“But I c-can’t bring the Horror out,” Ben pleaded. “I promise, I’m trying, it’s not… It won't listen.” He tried, once more for his father’s sake, to call the Horror out from within him. _Please, let’s just get this over with,_ he begged. _Please, please, please._

Nothing.

“Number Six,” his father began slowly. “If you will not bring the Horror out, then you must deal with this creature yourself.”

There was a heavy pause. Ben’s eyes widened, confusion stopping his tears. "What?" he whispered.

“Perhaps this is for the best. I should have foreseen this. It is _you_ who is too soft, after all. If you hesitate on the field and refuse to bring out the Horror, then your siblings will surely perish. Perhaps this will nip your hesitation in the bud. As it is, it would do well to remove the distance between your actions and those of the Horror. If you yourself are strong, the Horror will do anything that you command.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

“It is simple, Number Six. You say you cannot call out the Horror. Then you must kill that creature with your own hands.”

Ben felt a shudder run through his body. _No. No, this isn’t right. It didn’t do anything wrong! I can’t do it. I can’t do it!_

“You can, and you will,” Reginald responded angrily, and Ben realized he must have said his thoughts out loud. “I do not appreciate this rebellious nonsense, Number Six. You have always done well with doing as you’re told.”

“I… I won’t. I _can’t_ do this,” Ben said quietly. He didn’t know where this strength was coming from. He had never, _ever_ talked back to Dad. For a split second, he wished his siblings were here to see him take a stand. They would have been proud of him. They might have even liked him so much that they would have wanted to be his friend. He quickly brushed those thoughts away. He didn’t want his siblings anywhere near here.

He looked up at his father sitting in the watch tower and almost shrank back under the power of his glare. It was hard to be strong. _I can do this, though,_ he thought, trying to convince himself. _I’m sure he’ll realize there’s no need for this. I’m sure we can come to some kind of understanding._ He forced himself to pull himself off the ground and look back up at his father.

Reginald stared silently down at Ben, his face betraying no emotion whatsoever. After a few moments, he leaned into the microphone to speak.

“Number Six,” he began evenly. “As you know, I never go back on a rule. Your impertinence calls for punishment. You will remain here until your task is complete. And-“ he cut off Ben’s budding response, “-for each hour of my time you waste by unnecessarily delaying your training, you will be spending the following _day_ in this training room, away from your siblings, dealing with _another_ such animal.”

Ben’s mouth ran dry as he gaped back at his father. He had not expected this. Despite being used to their strict system of punishment, right here, right now, in the middle of his great stand, he had not expected his father to threaten him with isolation from his siblings. To threaten him with the possibility of ending right back in this situation once more. Seeing his hesitation, Reginald smiled patronizingly. “You see, Number Six? This is the very reason you are here in training. Your softness is your weakness, and it allows you to be coerced into making decisions as I say. I, of course, have your best interests at heart, but on a mission, you would be allowing the enemy to place you in a situation where you can do nothing but listen to them. I will not have that in my Academy.”

Reginald sat back in his chair with a sense of satisfaction, now assured of Ben’s obedience. Time slowed down once more for Ben. _Of course,_ he thought to himself, almost chuckling. _What was I thinking? This_ _is why I never speak back. It always makes things worse._ I _always make things worse. I… I never had a choice._

He felt the Horror tremble nervously, and he knew better than to try and call it out again. He would be in a lot of pain tomorrow from trying to force it out so many times. He was in survival mode now. All he could do was try to minimize the damage. His values, his beliefs, his willpower – none of that had ever mattered. All that mattered was getting out of here and back to his siblings. His siblings, who were paired off, who didn’t look at him as much as he wished they would, but he could not blame them, because he had the Horror.

But he did not have the Horror now.

All he had were his hands, his shaking, trembling hands and the roiling nausea and terror turning him inside out as he slowly approached the bird. It seemed to notice the shift in his resolve, and it turned to look at him with its gigantic, beady eyes. Ben determinedly averted his gaze down to its legs. He could not look at its eyes again. If he looked, he would be stuck here forever and would never see his siblings again.

The pit in his stomach had turned into an icy stone. His heart pounded wildly in his chest and adrenaline surged through his body. Ben released his rage with a bloodcurdling scream and lunged at the chicken, grabbing it by the neck. It froze in his grasp, and before he could lose his will, he wrung his small, twelve-year-old hands over its tiny neck. The resounding crack reverberated through him from his arms into his soul. Ben dropped to his knees and began to wail with sobs that wracked his entire body. The pit in his stomach was sinking, dragging him down and down, sucking him deep into the earth below.

Reginald rewarded him that night with an extra leg of chicken on his dinner plate. Ben was hardly aware of anything. Everything looked as if it was coming through a thick fog. The only thing he could hear was a tinny, constant buzz that filled his ears. He did not see Five and Allison glance over at him concernedly. He did not notice Diego gently nudge his dessert onto Ben’s plate. Instead, he sat unmoving, staring into nothing until they were dismissed, at which point he stood up from his chair, walked straight to his room, and promptly lay down on his bed. He remained mindlessly awake for many hours, zoned out in a world where he could not feel anything, before eventually slipping into a deep, restless sleep filled with angry, accusing beady eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor bbyyyyy ben :'( note: the other hargreeves kiddos will start having a larger presence in the next chapter!
> 
> can we all agree to let ben not eat meat if he doesn't want to? man throwback to when I got shit as a kid for being vegetarian by religion and now it's a trendy fad..... yall people have been out here doing this for thousands of years ok thank you for coming to my ted talk
> 
> this chapter was inspired by that one scene from iTaewon class. yeah you know the one. Jang Dae-Hee is Reginald Hargreeves confirmed iykyk
> 
> hope you're liking this so far and would love to know what your (positive and/or constructive) thoughts are in the comments! this is a ben stan safe space which means we learn to be kind to each other from the best (ben, our sweet boi)


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a year since they had started "saving" the world, and Ben, now fourteen, had started shutting himself in his room the moment they returned from each mission. In the beginning, he would hear a few tentative knocks – probably Diego – or a loud slap on the door, followed by various novel takes on pronouncing his name – definitely Klaus – and once or twice, the straightforward, gentle raps of Allison, or even the polite ones of Vanya. But he couldn’t – _wouldn’t_ – answer the door. He didn’t let them in. He stayed deathly silent, not responding until they gave up with or sigh or an angry, “Fine, be that way!” After a few such instances, the knocking stopped, and he could isolate himself in peace.

Of course, there was nothing peaceful about recovering from a mission. First, there was the matter of washing off all the blood. There was always so much blood. There were pieces of flesh sticking to his blood-coated, matted hair. There was the rotting stench of death surrounding him. His hands were shaking, and they wouldn’t stop, and he couldn’t stop seeing their faces, their pleading eyes as he ripped them apart, their hair-raising screams as he latched onto their limbs and easily slammed the life out of them, and he just can’t take this anymore, he can’t hecan’thecan’t-

Then, there was the matter of dealing with the pain. Despite Dad’s creative little name, the Horror was not some bloodthirsty monster just waiting to be unleashed. It was _not_ a _monster_. He hated when Dad called it that. When Dad called _him_ that. He hated having to use it to hurt people. He hated hurting people. And yet, who was he trying to fool? It didn’t matter if he hated doing it. He still did it each mission. And he would do it on the next one, and the next one, and the next one. He soaked himself in the blood of these people, who were, what, robbers? Enemies? The “bad guys?” But none of them had giant tentacles that burst out from their torsos to kill everyone in the vicinity. Sometimes the “bad guys” hadn’t even killed anyone yet. And most times, One through Five wouldn’t kill either – just severely injure or render unconscious. They would only use lethal force if the situation called for it. But Six. The Horror. Ben. He couldn’t hold back. There was no middle ground when it came to using his power. There was only alive or dead. One or Zero. Predator or prey. Human or monster. He couldn’t be both. And the truth was, despite his fervent denial, his disbelief of Dad’s claims, and his adamant assertion that he didn’t want to hurt anyone, he still came back from each mission feeling a little less human and a little more… Well. He still couldn’t bring himself to admit it.

Which is why he refused to let his siblings see him this way. Ever since they had started going on missions, Klaus had, to Ben’s delight, taken a liking to him, and had started talking to him about completely random things in the hallway or during leisure time. The others, too, seemed to have noticed him more, if not out of a respect for his power, then out of simply being unable to _not_ notice him anymore, so visible and violent was his ability. It was confusing for him: at the same time that he felt his grasp on himself and reality slipping away, he also felt his bond with his family finally grow. He craved that connection to them. He craved their understanding. And he was _terrified_ of making a mistake and messing it all up. He was terrified of giving them any reason to pull away. He was terrified of making it worse, and he always made things worse.

So in those wretched hours after a mission, he pulled away so that they wouldn’t have to. After spending hours scrubbing away someone else’s blood out of his hair, skin, and nails, he emerged from the shower feeling somehow dirtier than when he came in. He felt like he could never quite wash off that scent of death, and he realized that was probably his punishment, his reminder that he was no longer the person he used to be. Chickens had turned to dogs had turned to bears had turned to people, and as much as he wished he could separate the Horror from himself, at the end of the day, the Horror did what he willed it to do. There was no getting around that. The Horror was the weapon. _Ben_ was the murderer.

Each time after showering, he downed a couple painkillers to help manage the flaring pain in his stomach from overexerting his eldritch companion, and then he lay flat on his back on the cold wooden floor of his bedroom. He stared up at the white ceiling, trying to erase the flashes of the fighting, of the _killing_ , from the black insides of his eyelids. He lay there, perfectly still, focusing on the sounds that drifted around the mansion: Diego’s knives hitting a target on his bedroom wall, Klaus’ drunken antics as he thudded around his room, Allison’s low, murmuring conversations with Luther, Vanya’s violin practice, and Five’s occasional yell of frustration as he worked on his equations. Eventually, these sounds were washed away by a dull, constant static, which filled his senses and overtook him until he started to feel like he wasn’t really there in that mansion. Instead, he felt like he was floating, away from his bedroom, away from the mansion, away from the missions and people and earth, and up into blissful nowhere, far away from his disgusting, bloody body that smelled of death. He would stay there, floating, distant, away from it all, until Mom’s knocks at the door to come down for dinner jettisoned him back into his wretched body weighed down by that cold brick of a pit in his stomach.

He showed up at dinner, and everything was fine, of course. He was fine. He smiled quietly or complimented his siblings on something they did during the mission, and they chatted back. Dinner after a successful mission was the only occasion when Dad allowed them to talk during mealtimes, so they all tried to make the most of it. The Horror wailed in pain from the day’s activities and Ben clenched his teeth. He patted his stomach under the table and focused on the faces of each of his siblings:

Luther, with his small smile of pride as Dad praised him for a job well done. Luther, who then shared that smile with everyone who was on the mission (so everyone but Vanya), and that smile dazzled and lifted up everyone’s spirits.

Diego, whose eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he showed off a new knife trick to Klaus under the table. Klaus, who then turned to Ben and said with a twinkle in his eyes, “Those finetuned finger skills will come in _handy_ with the ladies later on, don’t you think Ben?” to which Diego blushed and elbowed Klaus while Klaus waggled his eyebrows back at him.

Allison, who was enraptured in a story Vanya was telling, nodding and exclaiming an occasional “No way!”, or “Really?” now and then. Vanya, who was excitedly rushing over the words of her story, her eyes beaming, because her sister was listening to her every word.

Five, who was deep in thought, silently mouthing numbers and words to himself as he traced imaginary symbols in the air. More and more often now Five spent his time at dinner scribbling equations onto his napkin.

Their faces brought Ben back to reality. Their faces reminded him why he was here, why they went on missions in the first place. Their faces helped ground him to this spot, this moment in time. They were his lifeline. The Horror hummed a contented agreement, and the vibration startled him out of his appreciation for his siblings. He pushed down on his stomach a little, willing the tentacles to just calm down.

He felt a pair of eyes watching him and immediately turned back to his untouched plate. He knew the feeling of those laser-focused eyes anywhere. He didn’t look back and instead focused on pushing his peas back and forth with his spoon. He had done well on this mission, but he knew exactly what Reginald was thinking about. Ben had let one man run out of the bank that day, and Diego had to chase after him and knock him out with a well-aimed knife. Reginald would punish him for this mistake. Feeling a little nauseous, Ben wondered what creature he would have to “deal” with tomorrow during individual training.

He had known what the consequences would be during the mission, when he watched the man’s eyes widen with horror as Ben unleashed his tentacles and squashed the man's accomplices to mulch. He had known what the consequences would be when he simply watched the man trip over himself to flee the room. _At least now he won't die_ , Ben had thought, watching as Diego ran out the door and tracked him down. 

The man’s eyes. Ben had looked right at them. He hadn’t meant to, but once he made the mistake, there was no going back. The man’s eyes had been glistening, swiveling, desperate, _alive_. Ben had looked into the man’s eyes and known right away that he couldn't do it. He would let him escape and deal with the consequences. Let him murder one less person today. Let him be less of a monster.

Ben's grip on his spoon tightened as a growing static tone started to overwhelm his senses. He forced himself to take a deep breath. Then one more. Then another. The sound slowly faded and he loosened his grip. He was back once more at the dining table, surrounded by his siblings. Feeling the presence of someone's gaze, he looked up and saw that Five was glancing at him curiously. Ben responded with a tight smile before looking back down at his plate.

He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sad piano chord* they ask you how you are and you just have to say you’re fine when you’re not really fine but you just can’t get into it because they would never understand
> 
> Moment of appreciation for Justin Min, the glorious and talented man whose exquisite acting gave Ben so much depth despite being a character with only 3 lines in season one that he was so popular they made him a regular in season 2!!! now that's what I call asian american representation :')


	4. Chapter 4

“I have a question for you.”

“What is it?” Klaus shifted as he asked, his fifteen-year-old, gangly body fumbling out of the blanket.

Ben reached down to readjust the blanket over Klaus, who was sprawled across the bedroom floor. Ben had started making it a habit to spend his free time in Klaus’ room. He didn’t like spending all that time alone in his room. He didn’t like the things he was starting to think as he stared up at the white ceiling and floated away.

“Benny boyyyy? Don’t leave me hanging!” Klaus prompted.

Ben hesitated, trying to assess the situation. He was pretty sure Klaus was as high as he’d ever been, and that was the only reason Ben had decided to ask his question. He’d been sitting on it for some time now because he hadn’t wanted Klaus’ perception of him to change. But now was the perfect chance: Klaus was basically guaranteed not to remember it tomorrow. “What… What do you feel now? What does it feel like?”

“To be high?” Klaus giggled. Ben nodded. Klaus’ eyes lit up with excitement. “Bennn! Only one way to find out!” he sang, and he eagerly flailed his arms under the depths of the blanket, trying to find a bag stashed somewhere within.

Ben chuckled. “No, I – I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said while subconsciously touching his stomach.

“Ben, Beeeeeen! You gotta let Bentacles breathe, baby.”

Ben didn’t respond and instead leaned back, laying silently alongside Klaus. It was a valid point. The last few months, The Horror had seemed to need some space to breathe. For the first time that he was ever aware of, he and his eldritch companion didn’t seem to be… on the same page.

Klaus hummed a little melody as he shifted over to face Ben. “Beeennn,” he whispered.

Ben sighed and turned to face his brother. Klaus’ giant, watery eyes gazed back at him, and Ben forced himself not to recoil from their intensity. For the past three years especially, eye contact had been a little… _difficult_ for him.

“Ben,” Klaus continued in a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ll tell you.” Ben raised his eyebrows, signaling Klaus to go on. He was trying to look as nonchalant as possible, but his heart was already racing in his chest. Klaus took a deep, dramatic breath and threw his hands up, grasping at the air. “It’s… it’s like I’m nowhere, Ben. It’s like I’m everywhere and nowhere, at the same time. But wherever I am, it’s not… I’m not in the mansion. I’m not on a mission. I’m not _anywhere_ near that godforsaken ghost town of a mausoleum. Nowhere,” he repeated softly. “Nowhere, and everywhere. I’m so far away,” he whispered.

Ben felt disappointment drop onto him like a freight truck. That was it? Ben already had that. He already did that, without any drugs, after each mission, floating away on the floor of his room while staring up at his white ceiling. But he always felt like shit regardless.

“It feels so _good_ , Ben,” Klaus went on. “It helps me get away. And I know I have to come back eventually, and it’ll feel like _ass_ , but then I just go away again, and it’ll be ok.”

A bitter taste had started to form in Ben’s mouth. He knew what it was like to be able to mentally go away for a while, but his drifting away post-mission was nothing like the blissful escape Klaus was talking about. He was so envious of Klaus’ happiness right now. Ben _wanted_ that. Ben wanted that so bad he could already feel tears start to well up in his eyes.

 _Wait – tears?_ Ben hastily turned away from Klaus and discreetly dabbed at his eyes. _I need to stop crying for no goddamn reason,_ he berated himself. _If Dad ever sees me like this…_

But he stopped himself. _No. You know what? Screw Dad. Screw what he said. About the Horror. About me. And you know what? Screw the Horror too._ At this thought, he felt his torso grumble unhappily. Ben irritatedly pushed down hard on his stomach. _Screw you,_ he thought back with renewed vehemence. _If it weren’t for you, if… if it weren’t for us, I could-_

“You good there, Benjamin?” he heard as Klaus nudged his shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re doing next to me in my bedroom turning away and pushing your hands over your body, but I gotta say, I’m not too big on the whole incest thing. Allison’s next door, that’s her and Luther’s department.”

The crude absurdity of Klaus’ statement temporarily forced Ben’s mental anguish out the window. He sighed and turned back to face Klaus, making a show of rolling his eyes for Klaus’ benefit. “Jesus Christ, Klaus. Too much.”

“Too much, or too soon?” Klaus replied easily.

“I keep thinking drugs will chill you out but you always manage to find new ways to impress me.”

“You know it, Benny. I’m here to please, after all.” Klaus reached out and poked Ben squarely on his cheek.

“Yup. Thanks. Thanks for that.” Ben settled into the blanket for another hour of weird, drug-inspired conversations with his brother. After a few minutes of silence, however, he looked over to see that Klaus had dozed off. He turned back and tried closing his eyes to sleep as well. Instead, he felt a rising sense of restlessness.

After another few minutes of waiting for sleep to come, Ben found his eyes opening and his arms moving almost of their own accord. They rummaged through Klaus’ blanket for a few seconds before successfully emerging with the hidden bag of pills Klaus had tried to offer him earlier. Such a small and light little translucent bag that contained such a powerful, time-consuming escape from reality. He eyed it hungrily, weighing his options.

There was Option 1: He could stick to his principles, his fears, his beliefs, and put the bag back down and remain firmly in the world of the known. Remain in the world with a never-absent, stone-cold pit in his stomach that dragged him down so low, he now felt the weight in every step. Nowadays, he trudged, when before, he had walked. He hadn’t even noticed the change until an astute Five pointed it out a few weeks earlier.

Or… Option 2: He could swallow one tiny pill, zip up the bag, and carefully place it back into the depths of the blanket, and nobody would be any the wiser. He could escape into a world of unknowns, a world that, according to Klaus, felt _good_. He could finally feel his mind be at ease and escape to the place to which he so desperately wished he could go. Away. From his body. From the Horror. From the mansion. From this existence.

But, there was a caveat to the latter option: He could also find himself in a drugged state where he no longer had such strict control over the Horror. Then, there was Option 2.a: It could stay inside his stomach and not cause any trouble, and he could wake up from a dream of happiness and maybe turn this into a new habit, a routine escape. Or… Option 2.b: He could find himself in a state where he could no longer restrict the Horror so harshly, and it could… try to get some space. To breathe.

Three years ago Ben never would have even considered being near drugs, let alone taking them. Two years ago, after the missions started, he might have considered something light, a joint maybe, just once, but never hard drugs. And now, here he was, weighing the options of potentially endangering his family for a few moments of purported bliss.

No. He wouldn’t actually be endangering his family. The Horror may have been acting up lately, but it only ever did what he told it to do. It would never hurt his family. He cared so much for his family. He would never hurt his family. He would never hurt anyone.

_But he did every week._

His hands were shaking. He could feel beady eyes everywhere, watching him, judging him. He took a deep, shaky breath and slowly dropped the bag over on Klaus’ side so that it would be out of his sight and no longer tempt him. After that, he shakily settled back down on the blanket and turned to check on his brother.

Klaus’ eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly open as he took in deep, content breaths. His face was, as usual, a little on the grimy side, but he still had that boyish look about him that caused all the siblings to want to protect him, even at the age of fifteen. After spending a few moments monitoring him to make sure Klaus hadn’t taken too much – there had been some terrifying, heart-stopping close calls before – Ben lay back down and stared up at the ceiling. Unlike Ben’s, which was depressingly white and empty, Klaus’ was covered in an assortment of various objects that told a series of chaotic stories. There were a couple faded glow in the dark star stickers he had managed to sneak into the house when they were kids – or rather, when they were younger, because they were still technically kids. A couple of darts he had taped up for some reason so that they didn’t fall to the ground. Marks from colored markers that he had somehow managed to get all the way up on the ceiling. A few spinning spiral decorations that made Ben feel dizzy just looking at them – these were probably for added entertainment while high. Ben had considered decorating his room a while ago, inspired by his first few visits to Klaus’ room. But after spending an entire hour thinking, he had been unable to come up with anything that he wanted to stick up on the walls. No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn’t think of anything that he enjoyed anymore.

Ben sighed, feeling a strange mixture of envy and gratitude. He was so glad he had found Klaus. Or, he supposed, Klaus had found him. Out of all of the siblings’ powers, _theirs_ were the most gruesome. Although, Klaus had decided well before the missions started to turn his off through whatever means possible, and no amount of restrictions or severe punishments from Dad could stop him from finding ways to do so. Eventually, to everyone’s enormous surprise, Dad had given up, and Klaus was since assigned to lookout duty. Klaus was different in that aspect: he had the capability to turn his power off. But regardless, what they had both seen and been forced to do provided them with a tacit understanding of each other. Ben could understand why Klaus remained adamantly high, drunk, or both, long after their other siblings had written Klaus off as lazy or selfish. And Ben felt like Klaus could understand why he shut himself off from everyone in his room after each mission.

Despite it all, they had each other. And that helped Ben feel like maybe he wasn’t going crazy – maybe these were just the cards they had been dealt, and they were both just doing the best that they could.

Klaus’ eyes fluttered open. He moaned and sluggishly flopped his arms around before his eyes landed on his brother next to him.

“Beeeeeennnnn.”

“Yeah?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me your question?”

“I already did.”

“Oh. Did I respond?”

“You offered me drugs.”

“Must have been a pretty good question.”

“Well, I was the one who asked it.”

“Bennn. My bro. You know what I like about you?” His wide eyes bored into Ben’s soul. Ben couldn’t help but smile.

“Enlighten me.”

“You,” Klaus started, poking Ben in the stomach. Ben swiftly caught Klaus’ hand and directed it up, away from his torso. “You,” Klaus continued, completely oblivious to that interaction, pointing this time at Ben’s chest, where Ben had moved his hand. “You can deal with it all. Easy.”

The smile slipped off Ben’s face. “What do you mean?” he asked quietly.

“No matter what bullshit life throws at you, all the crap Dad gives you on missions and everything, you just… hold it together! Like a champ!” Klaus’ eyes were shining with pride.

A dull buzz began to ring through Ben’s ears. 

“You’ve never said an angry word to anyone. Not Dad, not even _Luther_ , that snivelly little bastard. You're just so _good_. You’re so kind to everyone, despite it all.”

The Horror started to roil within him as if it was bitterly disagreeing. Ben firmly pushed down on it while biting down on his cheeks. For some reason, he could feel tears rushing to his eyes again, and for some reason, he could feel his blood rushing through his veins. _What is happening to me?_ He dug his fingernails into his stomach, as if doing so would help clear the angry fog he could feel descending upon him. _What is going on? Why am I feeling all of this, why can’t I control this? Pull it together!_

“I could never do it, you know. You make it look so easy. What’s your secret? Is it yoga? Meditation? Oh!” Klaus gasped, clutching his hand to his mouth in feigned shock. “It can’t be! You have a secret lover helping you relieve the tension!?”

A wave of nausea added to the clash of adrenaline and anger coursing through his body. Ben couldn’t take it anymore. He had to get out of that room _._ In one fluid motion he sprung up, choked out, “Bathroom,” and sprinted out of Klaus’ room and straight back to his, not even caring to keep his movements quiet at this late hour. He had to get away, away from Klaus, his stupid words, and his ridiculously colorful ceiling. He had to get back to the safety of his room and figure out what the hell was going on with him. He had to be _alone_. No sooner had he thought this than his bedroom door was within sight; he barged inside, slammed the door shut, and snatched a pillow off his bed. Without thinking, he smothered it onto his face until he could barely breathe and screamed his lungs out. After a minute or so, his voice had gone hoarse, and he collapsed onto his bed, heaving from the effort. The buzzing sound had faded from his ears, and all he was left with was the sense of being utterly, completely drained.

 _What just happened?_ he wondered. He knew Klaus was high and hardly cognizant of what he was saying. Furthermore, he knew that Klaus had only been trying to be kind to him. Yet for some reason, at that moment, Ben felt a vicious hatred towards his brother, stronger than anything he’d ever felt before. What was _wrong_ with him? Klaus had said that he admired Ben for being able to deal with things, for being good, and instead of taking the compliment, Ben had been filled with a kind of rage that he didn’t even know he was capable of feeling. _Why? What was going on? What the hell was wrong with him?_

The Horror quivered, almost reassuringly, and that startled him out of his reverie. He patted his stomach gently, rubbing small circles like he always used to do years ago. The motion soothed both him and his eldritch companion, and suddenly, he felt like he could breathe a little easier. He stayed that way for a few minutes, mindlessly rubbing his stomach, and a question began to form in his mind, one that he wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him before. _When had they started mistrusting each other?_ He couldn’t remember the last time that he and the Horror had comforted each other. Instead, he had been feeling a growing resentment towards it, and in return, it had been acting out more and more. It was constantly grumbling throughout the day, making his life just a little harder than it already was, which caused him to restrain and quiet it with more frustration, which caused it to grumble even more. Nowadays, it was pouting and taking its time to come out when he summoned it during training, or lashing out with far more force than he thought he was asking for during missions. He had felt like the Horror, which had for his entire life been the only living creature he had ever known to be so perfectly attuned to his every thought and emotion, was now trying to pull away from him, so he had pulled away too.

But hadn’t it always been there for him when he really needed it? Hadn’t it always comforted him when he was scared, always protected him when he was in danger? Why had he started blaming it for how he felt after missions when it had just been doing what he had told it to do?

“I guess you’ve always just been listening to me, huh,” Ben mused out loud, still patting his belly. “I guess we never stopped being on the same page. I… I just want to be able to breathe. So… so do you.”

It hummed again, and to his surprise, his other constant companion, the stone pit in his stomach that always dragged him down, lightened considerably. For the first time in years, Ben had the space to breathe one full, deep breath.

But then a knock at the door caused him to freeze in place.

“Ben, honey,” Mom said from outside the door. “Your father would like to see you. That was quite a ruckus you caused running down the hallway just now!”

And just like that, the moment was gone. The pit sank down once more, the Horror trembled with apprehension, and Ben’s hand dropped down to his side.

A minute went by.

“Ben?” Mom called.

“Coming,” he croaked, his feet moving of their own accord off the bed and towards the door. There were always consequences for his actions. Tonight was no exception. There was always going to be the next punishment, the next training session, the next mission, the next bloodbath.

 _It doesn’t matter,_ he realized, a newfound clarity dawning on him as he trudged forward. _None of this matters._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello since this delves into klaus' substance abuse and ben's deepening depression I wanted to make sure I add please please reach out to someone to get help if you need it! you can also look up online to find some great volunteer helplines local to your area. Or for the US nationally there's the samhsa (substance abuse & mental health services administration) national helpline (1-800-662-4357) and the national suicide prevention lifeline (1-800-273-8255) among others.
> 
> thanks for reading and making it this far <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: please take note of updated story tags.

Ben glided like a ghost through the mansion, his feet padding through the halls as he made his way to the balcony. The mansion felt too stuffy and the walls were pressing in on him. He needed to get some space to breathe and process everything that had happened that day.

He pushed open the sliding door silently, mindful of the spot where it usually snagged in the track. He carefully shut it behind him and walked out into the open air, sitting crisscrossed by the balcony railing that overlooked the grounds of the Academy. This spot had long since been abandoned – it was right next to Five’s room, in _his_ corner of the mansion, and they had all been avoiding going anywhere near it or any other remnants of his existence in the house. It had only been a few months since he had disappeared, but the family had begun to fracture exponentially. The dynamic had been thrown off, after all: Five had been the only one who could really stand off against Dad and trap him in an argument. Five had been the one who could argue the siblings out of an unusually cruel punishment or expectation from their father. With him gone, the siblings had lost a lot of nerve when it came to facing their father. Instead, they got on each others’ nerves, rather than banding together with the quiet sort of unity they had had before.

Ben took in a deep breath of the evening air and let out a peaceful sigh. The air was cool and soothing. For the first time in his life, he had not had to undergo his usual post-mission recovery. No wretched shower to wash off coats of blood. No popping painkillers to lessen the throbbing pain. In fact, the Horror was in absolutely no pain whatsoever, and it felt… well, it didn’t quite feel like anything, which was a marked step up from the agony he was used to.

There had been no laying on the ground and trying to float away either, because Ben already felt surprisingly… fine. He wasn’t on top of the world, but he wasn’t trudging around anymore. There was a perk in his step that hadn’t been there before the mission. He felt almost… hopeful.

Of course, the mission had gone terribly. Missions were generally harder now without the assistance of someone who could pop in and out in the nick of time and help save the day. But today’s mission in particular had been a complete train wreck. By all accounts, he should have felt miserable. There had been an innocent civilian’s death, along with one of the harshest lectures he and his siblings had ever had to endure from their father on the van ride home. And of course, he _had_ felt miserable. He remembered feeling absolutely devastated at some point that day, actually, but he couldn’t quite remember when. The details of what had happened on the mission and over the course of the day were rather fuzzy, which was not unusual to him. Over the last year or so, it had felt like each day came to him through a sort of haze. Trying to sort through the events of the day and figure out what had caused him to feel so disappointed and then hopeful was exactly the reason why he had come up to the balcony.

Unfortunately, his plan to piece through his thoughts was interrupted by the shuffling of the sliding door. He made no motion to move, recognizing the soft patter of Vanya’s steps as she walked up from behind him and settled by his side. After a few moments of comfortable silence, she spoke.

“I heard about what happened today,” she said softly.

Ben kept staring at the grounds below him. The courtyard was empty save for a few leaves rustling in endless circles, trapped by the wind. It was around that time of year when everything died and fell to the ground.

“I miss him too, you know?”

The timbre of Vanya’s voice caused Ben to shift to look at her. She was determinedly looking away from him, also staring out into the courtyard down below. It suddenly struck him as strange that she was here, next to him. The reason he had chosen the balcony was because he hadn’t expected to run into anyone else in Five’s corner of the house. Truth be told, he didn’t want to be near any of his siblings right now. Because… he was… _angry_ at them? The thought occurred to him in the back of his mind as he looked at Vanya’s face. However, before he could try to understand his realization further, Vanya continued.

“Everything is so different without him here,” she said sadly. She turned to look at him compassionately, but her brow furrowed at the sight of Ben’s face of confusion. “Without Five,” she added.

“Oh. Yeah, I… I know,” Ben said quickly, catching on. Of course. He should have known Vanya might show up here. She and Five had always been close. Well – as close as any of the siblings could be in their dysfunctional family environment.

She trained her gaze on him for a moment, studying him in the analytical manner that was so typical of her, before her expression softened. She looked back out through the balcony rails. “I come here sometimes too. He and I used to spend our free time here, talking.”

“Oh, I… didn’t know that.” He didn’t know a lot of things about his siblings, something that he had come to realize recently. They had spent their entire lives living together, but they hardly knew anything about each other. Ben had thought that he paid more close attention to his beloved brothers and sisters than they paid to him. Turns out, he was no better than the rest of them. None of them really knew the extent of what the others were going through. They were all too busy dealing with their own shit. Ben had accepted that. He could understand that.

Vanya had taken his long pause of silence as an admission of understanding. “I didn’t know that you were that close to Five,” she admitted.

“Oh, I… really wasn’t.”

“But clearly it’s affecting you a lot. I mean, you’re here on his balcony now, aren’t you?” She looked up at him questioningly.

Ben saw the innocence in her eyes and struggled to hold back a sigh. Of course, he missed Five. They all did. But other than Vanya, was it really affecting any of them that much? Five had been on a different wavelength, serving as their defender and protector rather than their friend and sibling. And while Five had never been anything but decent towards Ben, he had never been particularly interested in spending time with Ben either. He had focused on other things that he had cared about, such as trying to become the smartest person in the room, winning arguments against Dad, and occasionally, caring for and talking to Vanya. So while Ben missed him to some extent, Five’s disappearance hadn’t particularly negatively impacted Ben’s daily life. If anything, Ben felt envious of Five.

Five had escaped it all.

“It’s okay if it’s affecting you. You can tell me about it. It’s been hard for me, you know. And I know it’s been hard for all of you. I heard about what happened during the mission, after all.”

Her words triggered his memory, and flashes of screams rang through his ears as fragments of the mission came back to him through a haze. The glint of a gun trained on his heart. His siblings bursting in through the door. The bloodied body of a young girl in the school hallway. The shrill tones of Reginald’s scolding on the suffocating ride back.

Ben’s hand reached down to his stomach subconsciously, patting the usual comforting small circles. He didn’t realize what he was doing until he caught Vanya’s shrewd eyes glancing down at his torso. He let his hand rest on his stomach, though, waiting for a response.

The Horror was deathly quiet.

A disorienting wave of anger bubbled up to his chest, and he forced himself to take a deep breath and spit out an answer. “Yeah. It’s been tough,” he breathed. He wrenched his hand away from his stomach and clutched a cool metal bar of the balcony railing.

Vanya nodded her head sadly at his confirmation. “I think it’s good to talk about it. I wish… I wish I could talk to someone about it,” she added quietly, and Ben felt a pang of guilt for being so self-centered at a moment of her showing such vulnerability. “I think Dad is wrong about the best way of honoring his memory being just moving on. He’s trying to act like Five was never even here,” she said, her voice choking on emotion.

Ben took another deep breath and looked up at the sky. It was getting to be past dusk now, and a blueish gray night was starting to settle in over the mansion. He looked back to his right at Vanya, who was resolutely looking down at the courtyard again. Her eyes were shining and wet, but she was not crying. Ben thought this might have been the most emotion he had ever seen her display. A troubling thought ran through his mind, and he found himself asking her tenderly, “Are… Are you still taking your medication?”

He knew immediately that this was the wrong thing to ask. He could see her mentally draw herself back from his presence. “Wait, no,” he stammered. “No, I meant- It’s ok if you aren’t, I just meant-“

“I’ve never missed a day of my medicine in my life,” she answered, glaring up at him, her eyes no longer shining, but hard and cold.

The harshness of her stare triggered an innate fight-or-flight response within him, and he found himself recoiling slightly and dropping his eyes back down to the courtyard. His hand was once again over his stomach, pressing down uncomfortably, but still, there was no response.

There was a tense minute of silence. Ben felt like he owed it to Vanya to try and make things right between them. After a few moments of hesitation, he started to speak tentatively. “I just… I meant to say that I’m sorry, and if you ever want to talk about it, I can-“

But he was interrupted by the sound of the sliding door opening for the second time. Vanya jumped up in alarm and turned to face the door behind them. Ben stayed where he was and instead looked up at Vanya, watching the split second of recognition on her face transform into a mask of indifference.

“What are _you_ doing here?” He heard Luther’s sixteen-year-old, deepening voice say behind him.

“She lives here, asshole.” He recognized the sharp, higher pitch of Diego.

Vanya said nothing, looking up above their heads as if she couldn’t see them. Without a word, she marched off the balcony and back into the depths of the mansion. Ben watched her go, waiting for the familiar feeling of guilt and worthlessness over his mistake to descend upon him. There she had been, offering him an olive branch of trust and friendship, and what had he done? He’d ruined it, she had pulled away, and he had to watch her go.

But surprisingly, he didn’t feel the guilt. In fact, he didn’t feel much of anything, really. He just sort of felt… empty. Like all he was made of was this hollow pit that was trying to drag him down to the floor, with the same constancy as the gravity that was bringing the leaves down to the courtyard below.

“Hey, man. So… What was that today?” Diego asked as he settled into the spot where Vanya had been sitting.

“Why didn’t you bring out the Horror?” Luther added, keeping his distance and remaining standing by the sliding door behind them.

“Hey, we agreed that _I_ would ask the questions,” Diego interjected hotly.

“I didn’t agree to that,” came Luther’s cool response.

Ben didn’t turn to face either of them, instead choosing to continue to stare at the leaves circling down on the courtyard. The prickly sense of anger he had been feeling earlier had resurfaced. _I guess I wasn’t mad at_ all _of my siblings. Just the ones who were on the mission,_ he wondered to himself.

“Hey. Ben?” he heard Diego ask, his voice sounding slightly kinder than before. "Come on. What happened today?"

Ben fished around for an answer before settling on, “I don’t know.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Luther! _I am asking the questions._ ”

“I never agreed to that!”

“Well, if you want answers, you’re going to have to, because you are _shit_ at talking to people.”

 _You’re not much better,_ Ben thought half-heartedly, but he remained quiet. He was starting to deeply regret his little escapade to the balcony. He just wanted to be alone.

“Look,” Diego started kindly, and Ben suddenly realized he was treating this like a game. Diego was turning his soft voice on and off like a switch. Is that what talking to Ben had been reduced to? Was that all he was to Diego now? A broken puzzle to crack? “Is it because of Five?” Diego continued. “Because man, I get it, we all do, okay? It sucks not having him around, and it’s weird adjusting to it, I know. But when it comes to a mission, we’ve _got_ to be on our A-game. You can’t just shut down and do nothing in the middle of a mission,” he emphasized.

“Because by doing that, you endanger everyone else _and_ the mission.”

“For fuc- Luther! Shut the hell up!”

“I’d like to see you try and make me. I’m just telling him the truth.”

“Oh, I can take you any time. I just wouldn’t know what to do after making you cry.”

Ben tuned out their bickering. Their arguing was drowned out by the rising sound of a familiar dull ringing in his ears. Alongside his growing irritation at his brothers, Ben felt a tinge of nausea, and again found his hand drawn to his stomach, pressing it for an answer.

Suddenly, without warning, the Horror lurched back with an overwhelming flood of rage. Ben’s heart pounded as more memories from the mission surged back in flashes.

There was a small misstep, a lack of sensing out the enemies in the room. He was stepping through a doorway and all of a sudden felt an assault rifle trained on his heart. Then there was a blur, a portion still not recovered through the haze, and suddenly his siblings were bursting into the hallway. There was a flashing of knives, and he heard one of his siblings yell, _“MOVE,_ Ben! _”_ but he stayed rooted to the spot. Then there were shots and screams cutting through the air, someone was grabbing him, the rifle was out of the man’s grasp, and then someone screamed with a shrill sense of urgency “I HEARD A RUMOR” and finally there was quiet.

“Ben? Ben!” Diego’s voice brought him back to the cool night on the balcony. “Can you promise us you’ll be more aware of your surroundings next time?” he asked, the barest trace of frustration leaking into his tone.

“We can’t afford to lose anyone else,” Luther added solemnly. “The Academy couldn’t take the hit.”

“Luther, I will kick your ass.” For once, Ben didn’t hear Luther respond. “Ben?” Diego asked again, turning to look Ben in the eyes. “You know we’re all trying to get by. We’re all trying to deal with the aftermath of Five leaving and go back to saving lives like we used to. We need to have each others’ backs, now more than ever. We had your back today. We always will. But we need to know that you’ll have ours, too.” His tone was raw and earnest, and Ben felt the guilt now, wondering if he had been too harsh in his judgment of Diego earlier. He was right, after all – Ben needed to have their backs. That was the whole point of his power. That had been the whole point of his ruthless training sessions. That had been his entire justification to himself for his role on missions, for everything he had been forced to do up until that point. Wasn’t it all so that he could be there for his siblings?

“It won’t happen again,” he muttered, not even believing himself as the words left his mouth. “Sorry, I… I wasn’t thinking straight.” Well, that much was true. Over the last few minutes, all the pieces of what had happened on the mission had slowly fell into place. He remembered now. He realized, hollowly, why his eldritch companion was so enraged at him, why it had pulled away from him. Ben seemed to be having that effect on everyone now.

Diego leaned back, seemingly satisfied. Ben felt two rough pats on his shoulder as Diego tried to encouragingly provide him some kind of brotherly affection. “My man,” was all Diego said, sounding relieved that this had gone well – at least, in his eyes. He started to get up but hesitated. “If you ever need anything…” he trailed off, not sure how to end his sentence.

Ben didn’t respond, sensing the empty gesture for what it was. Diego nodded and stood up. Luther had already exited through the sliding door. Ben heard Diego make his way to the open door behind him, but he paused by the doorway. _I wonder what he’ll say,_ Ben thought distantly. But after a moment, he heard the sliding door close resoundingly shut. He guessed Diego had decided there was nothing left to say.

Diego sighed after he closed the door and ran a hand through his hair. This mission had been an absolute mess. Dad had explained on their way there that all the children had been evacuated from the school save for those unlucky five being held hostage by the men. It was a startlingly high-stakes mission after a series of smaller, haphazardly won assignments after Five’s disappearance. Five had been a crucial member of the Academy, so they were by no means in their A-game without him. Perhaps Dad had hoped that a highly visible success would boost morale and bring back their groove.

Instead, the pressure was palpable. Klaus had been high out of his mind that morning and hence was ordered by Dad to stay at home (as if he had needed ordering), and even though Klaus had never been of much use during missions anyway, he would usually know how to cheer them up and ease the tension on the ride in. Instead, the siblings were subdued in the van ride, darting their eyes around during their father’s sanctimonious pep talk about valor and rubbing their sweaty palms on their uniforms.

They had not known how many men were inside, so Ben was to start the surprise attack and take out as many hostiles as he could with his tentacles. The telltale sounds of screaming was to be their signal, and they would burst into the hall to rush out the children and finish off any enemies Ben had missed.

Instead, they had heard nothing for ten seconds, and then another twenty. Diego had been antsy, wanting to make a move in case Ben had been hurt, but Luther had held out his arm, cautioning them to wait for the signal.

In the end, after another ten seconds had gone by, Allison had simply stated, “Something’s wrong,” and pushed past both of them. They had quickly rushed in along with her, and then a thousand things happened at once.

From Diego’s perspective, this is what he saw:

Ben was merely two feet in front of the door, frozen and unmoving. A leering man further down the hall with an AK-47 in hand had the rifle trained straight at Ben’s heart. Three more armed men stood guard in front of the five elementary-school-aged children, who seemed to be fine – physically, at least – save for the quiet tears streaming down their faces.

 _Ben could have taken them,_ thought Diego confusedly, before aiming a dagger straight at the man with the rifle and letting it fly into the air, shouting, “Move, Ben!” But Ben didn’t move, and Diego felt panic rise within his chest as the dagger sliced towards his brother. Terrified, he altered the knife’s course, and it whistled centimeters from Ben’s head as Luther dove and tackled Ben to the ground. The knife found its way back to its target, but instead of hitting the hand of the man with the AK-47 and knocking it out of his grasp, it hit his upper arm.

The man roared in pain and let loose a magazine of bullets and everyone started screaming. Luther galloped towards the man across the hallway and punched him square in the face, knocking him out stone cold with Ben still clutched in his other arm. Diego barely had time to register what happened before the glint of red in the periphery of his vision caught his eye and he realized with a surge of dread that one of the children was face down on the floor. He readied his knives and started to break into a sprint, but suddenly Allison’s voice pierced through the air as she screamed, “I HEARD A RUMOR THAT EVERY MAN STOPPED MOVING.”

The remaining men standing guard by the children froze, and for a moment, Diego expected himself to be unable to move as well. He looked over at Allison accusingly, wondering why she would hamper her siblings’ movement, when he realized that he was actually able to look at her. _Well_ , he thought, temporarily disoriented. _I guess her power thinks we’re not men yet. We’re still not technically adults._

He glanced over at Luther and saw with a surge of relief that he was unharmed. Ben was slumped over by Luther’s side, looking dazed but also seemingly unhurt. Diego felt a rush of frustration towards his unmoving brother as the adrenaline began to dwindle out of his system, but he pushed that aside. There was no time for feelings: they had to deal with the aftermath of the situation.

Diego sighed again as he pushed memories of the mission out of his mind. He glanced back through the closed glass sliding door at Ben, sitting on the balcony alone in the cold night, staring out into nothing. He felt uneasy, for some reason. Ben was usually quiet and a little aloof, but over the last few months something felt… _different_ about him. Maybe the change had happened around when Five had disappeared? That would make sense, since Ben was the most sensitive one in the family. Diego had hoped talking to him in a kinder way than Luther had planned (which wasn’t a very high bar, to be honest), would show him that they were all in this together, and that they were _all_ trying to deal with the hole Five had left in the group. What happened today had been… more dangerous and close than Diego liked to think about. Ben couldn’t let his feelings over Five's disappearance endanger himself and all of them like that. Besides, that poor young schoolgirl…

Diego shook his head. There was no point in beating themselves up. They were human, after all, and they made mistakes too. But Ben had promised he wouldn’t slip up again, and Diego had faith that they would rise up as a team once more and go back to kicking ass and saving lives like they used to. Missions used to be so much _fun_ for all of them – he couldn’t wait for those good old times to come back.

Reassured, Diego made his way back to his room. His fingers were itching for some target practice with his daggers.

Back on the balcony, a cool breeze whistled past the bars of the railing and swirled by Ben’s ankles. Ben watched more leaves fall in slow motion. Each one was ripped apart from its place high up in the trees surrounded by its brothers and sisters. Each one swiveled and turned, restlessly fighting the wind, but none of them were able to escape their downfall.

Another gale of wind blew past his neck, causing him to shiver and transporting his mind back to the school grounds. They had been standing by the entrance to the school, going over the plan one last time. Ben was pinching his arms to try and drag himself out of the haze he was in and into a more alert state. Each mission had started to feel like a massive drain of energy, and he was starting to feel exhausted sooner and sooner into them. They hadn’t even been on site yet when he had started to feel tired, and not tired physically, but _tired_ in the way that used to scare him back when he was a kid. Now, he was used to that feeling, and he let it wash over him during the van ride as he zoned out through Reginald’s pompous speech.

But now, at the entrance to the school, he was starting to realize just how high-stakes this mission was. _There were children trapped inside._ The pit in his stomach was ice cold and weighed him down like a rock. He hoped the Horror wouldn’t screw anything up. He had felt himself getting clumsier on missions, his finesse and restraint loosening as his mind grew more deeply entrenched in the fog. Each mission had turned into a chance game of screw-it-up bingo. But he could not afford to mess this one up.

_He would rather die._

The thought struck him off-guard, but there were hands patting his shoulder, and Luther was telling him it was time for him to go. Ben pushed the thought aside and stumbled through the doors, creeping forward for a few seconds before he suddenly felt the stark presence of a gun trained on him. Time slowed down, and he felt like he looked up at the man across the hallway in slow motion. They made eye contact: Ben’s tired, deep brown eyes finding the man’s cold, focused blue ones.

The man was alive. Ben was alive.

The world around them fell away as Ben watched the man readjust the aim of his rifle directly at Ben’s chest. He watched the man’s beady eyes clearly try to think through what the next optimal step in this new situation for him to do was. Each second that passed between them was a vast eon of time. Ben felt his mind clear up from the fog that surrounded him for the first time in years. Suddenly, his purpose in the world was crystal clear; he knew exactly what he needed to do.

Ben looked the enemy straight in the eyes and calmly said, “Do it.”

A flicker of confusion passed through the man’s face. Another eon passed by. Ben opened his mouth to repeat himself.

Suddenly, the doors burst open. Ben heard his siblings rush into the hallway and immediately, a staggering wave of disappointment crashed through his body, drowning out his senses and filling him up with nothing but white static. Devastation and fury over their interruption swelled within him to a raging inferno that burned away his entire sense of self and left him empty. He was floating; he was chained; he was in the hallway, and he was nowhere. For the following hour, he was in a daze, completely unaware of anything happening around him. Only one thought broke through the thick haze that enshrouded him, and it ran through his mind obsessively, over and over again.

He had almost escaped.

_He had been so close._

Eventually, he felt his senses come back to him, one by one. First, he became aware of the harsh echoing of Dad’s cold lecture. Then, he became cognizant of his body sitting on a plush leather seat and realized he was in the van. Finally, he opened his eyes (and realized they had never been closed), and noticed the mixture of harsh or concerned looks from his father and siblings, to which he exhaustedly sank back into his seat and stared out the window.

He felt… angry. But even that feeling quickly dissipated into smoke. No, as he watched the scenery outside the van blur into shapeless greens and grays, he became aware of the fact that he felt nothing.

Not the Horror, which was no longer writhing in his stomach.

Not the pit further below, which was no longer weighing him down.

Not even his own hands, which he realized he had subconsciously placed over his stomach.

He felt absolutely nothing.

That night, after he finally pulled himself off of the balcony and dragged himself back into bed, he found himself reimagining the ending to the mission that day. His siblings had never interrupted, the bullet had found its way to its target, and he was floating away, drifting far beyond to a place from which no one, not even Reginald Hargreeves, could drag him back. These daydreams felt peaceful to him, and after a few minutes, Ben realized that he was smiling up at the dark ceiling above him. In fact, he could feel a little bubble of something bright and warm gathering in his chest. He reveled in it for some time, and it helped him see the events of the day in a different light. There were so many possibilities that had opened up to him today on the mission. The more he thought about it, the more Ben marveled at how there had been this one beautiful, glorious moment that, had things gone just a little differently, could have resulted in him never leaving that school hallway. After spending another few hours in a daze on his bed, he realized with a start that this _something_ that he felt in his chest was hope.

Yes, he remembered now why he felt hopeful. He could be free soon.

There was always the next mission.

There was always the next chance to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~  
> Fin.
> 
> I may eventually add another chapter that takes place after Ben's death, but for now, this is it! Thanks for coming along on this journey. Comments are appreciated <3


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